


The Pat Down

by dedkake



Series: Post-Credit Feelings [2]
Category: The Wolverine (2013), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Public Sex, Spoilers, Telepathic Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Wheelchair Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan wants to be sure that this isn't a joke.  A continuation of the post-credits scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pat Down

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted a fic like this after seeing the movie, so I wrote it. Please excuse just about everything. Thank you to Emmy for the beta.

“You _asshole_ ,” Logan spits, so tense with hope and disbelief he might be shaking. Magneto’s released him, but he still feels frozen, just like everyone around him.

Xavier is smiling up at him, looking just as smug and handsome as he always does—even in death, Logan knows. And _fuck_ he’s there, he’s alive, he must be. Logan’s mind is running circles trying to come up with any other explanation for all of _this_ , and he comes up empty. The only thing that makes sense is _Xavier_. It even smells like him.

“Fuck,” Logan whispers, taking a short, unconscious step forward. Even Magneto wouldn’t sink as low as to tempt him with a fake Xavier, of that he’s certain. “You’re alive.”

Behind him, Magneto snorts a laugh, but Logan can’t turn away from Xavier to show him exactly how funny this whole thing is. “We don’t have time for this,” Magneto says shortly.

“Oh,” Xavier says, voice smooth, amused, and Logan feels it warm him from the inside, “I wouldn’t say that. I recall a certain someone taking his time to make sure I was alive.”

Magneto sighs, clearly exasperated, and Logan can imagine with perfect clarity the way he’s rolling his eyes.

Logan takes another step forward, still unable to make his mind catch up to the image in front of him. “Professor,” he says, voice sounding harsh and broken even to his own ears.

Reaching out to take Logan’s hand, Xavier’s smile turns soft. “It’s good to see you, Logan,” he says, just as gently as he always has.

“You goddamn asshole,” Logan repeats, anger starting to burn around the edges of his disbelief. He can’t believe that Xavier would let them believe him dead for so long—it had taken him a long time to come to terms with the fact that Xavier had let himself be killed in the first place. It’s an old wound in Logan’s heart, and it’s being peeled open with every second that Xavier’s calm smile holds him.

“Please, Logan,” Xavier says, wincing. “Language.” Magneto laughs, but Logan can’t spare him a thought. He still trusts the Professor to keep him safe from that piece of trash, instinctively, even after all this time. It’s as easy as breathing.

“We’re not at your fucking school, Chuck,” Logan growls, flexing his hands against the tension still building inside him.

Xavier’s hand tightens around Logan’s. “No,” he says, “I suppose we’re not.”

Logan turns his hand in Xavier’s, squeezing tightly, unsure whether he’s trying to hurt him or just make sure he’s _there_. “You should be. That’s the first place you should’ve gone,” Logan says, angry and relieved in turns.

“Logan,” Charles says, his soothing voice cooling just enough to be a warning, and Logan drops his hand. He can’t stop himself now, his body moving on memory alone, sinking down around Xavier in the chair, pressing their foreheads together, chest heaving with anticipation.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Magneto says, but he sounds resigned and Logan can smell the subtle shift in Magneto’s scent at his interest in the scene.

“No one asked you,” Logan growls, sparing Magneto a swift glance just as Charles says, “Erik, please.”

And then Xavier is pulling Logan in for a kiss, one hand gripping tightly at his arm, the other catching the side of his face. Logan holds onto the armrests of Xavier’s chair for balance, but he’d learned long ago how to navigate this particular dance. Nosing his way out of the kiss, Logan sets himself on the bit of Xavier’s neck left above his collar and tie.

Xavier’s grip tightens and he even adds a light mental caress. “Logan,” he says breathlessly. “We don’t have time for me. Just you will be enough.”

Logan growls, the noise starting in his chest, because god _damn_ he hates it when Xavier does this. He has, of course, seen Xavier come in a number of different ways—including by riding someone else’s orgasm—but right now all Logan wants is to _see_ him, to touch him all over, make sure this is real. “I need—” he starts to say, but Xavier is running a hand down his chest to his thigh, fingers pushing just hard enough to set Logan’s senses on fire. “—Shit. Get on with it, then.”

“Please do,” Magneto adds, closer than he had been, and Logan tries not to think about how missed that. As long as Magneto’s not destroying shit or killing people, Logan couldn’t care less what he’s doing now.

“Can l?” Xavier asks, pressing his lips to Logan’s temple.

Logan has almost forgotten this, how it’s always a question with Xavier in these intimate situations, never an assumption like it is otherwise, and reality settles over Logan’s heart. “Of course you fucking can,” he says, pushing his nose back into Xavier’s neck because he can’t face him now. “You can do whatever you want.”

_Thank you_ , comes Xavier’s response, the warm fingers of his telepathy graciously making themselves known as they spread through Logan’s mind. Nothing has ever felt quite like that.

“You’re alive,” Logan says as Xavier’s hands get to work on his belt, massaging his aching cock through his jeans as he goes. There’s no other possible explanation for him now.

_I’m here_ , Xavier whispers into Logan’s mind, capturing his lips again in a kiss that is hard and bruising and just the way that Logan likes it. Logan tries not to fall into him, keeping his arms braced tight against the armrests of Xavier’s chair.

Xavier is making quick work of his jeans and underwear, running his hand over Logan’s cock like only Charles Xavier knows how. Logan wants to reciprocate, to at least work at Xavier’s chest like he used to, and he thinks about it hard, how it used to feel, how he would work one nipple over with his mouth and the other with his hand--

Xavier moans loudly, an obscene, wet noise that echoes around the still frozen airport. “Yes,” he says, voice ragged. “We’ll do that again.”

Under normal circumstances, Logan would want to drag this out. As it is, he can hear the tick of every second on Xavier’s fancy watch, especially with the weight of Magneto’s presence behind them. He wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard’s amplifying the sound or some shit just to annoy him. Fucking Magneto.

So Logan contents himself with Xavier’s mouth and hands, working with Xavier’s mental suggestions to find a rhythm that suits them both, that has Logan seeing white even though he’s still far from the edge. Fucking _Xavier_.

“Do hurry up, Charles,” Magneto says, closer still. Logan feels Xavier’s mind flare hot at that, a surge of frustration and arousal that leaves Logan panting against Xavier’s neck.

Turning to glare at Magneto, Logan growls. “Stay out of it.”

Xavier’s hand slows on Logan’s dick and Logan turns wildly to face him, only to find him smiling behind flushed cheeks.

“I don’t think I will,” Magneto says, voice rich and right next to Logan’s ear. 

Logan tenses, arousal threatening to fade with the threat of Magneto so near. But Xavier’s hands get back to work and Magneto catches Logan for a kiss, one hand on his jaw, the other flat between his shoulderblades.

It’s never a question with Magneto. No, he’s all selfishness--fuck now and ask questions later, maybe, if you’re lucky. But Logan doesn’t mind. He’s the same way, most of the time. And besides, Magneto’s a great fuck, if memory serves, and Xavier doesn’t seem to mind, either.

“You two are going awfully slow,” Magneto grumbles, pushing Logan’s face back towards Xavier’s neck. He’s almost gentle about it, save for the way he holds Logan there with his very bones.

Logan growls, not allowing himself to be distracted from Magneto by the way that Xavier tips his head back once more. “Can’t exactly move like this, can we?”

With an exaggerated sigh that sounds just as disappointed as it does amused, Magneto says, “Have you learned nothing?”

Before Logan can whirl around for a swing at Magneto, Xavier changes his rhythm and all Logan can do is grunt and curl further forward. _Don’t let him get to you_ , Xavier whispers into his mind. _But you can move now. He won’t let us fall._

Logan slowly catches Xavier’s meaning, feeling the minute vibrations of Magneto’s power in the chair. When he closes his eyes, he can even feel it within himself. _What the hell?_ , he figures and rolls his hips forward into Xavier’s hand, the movement quick and sharp. Xavier moans and Logan lets out a gruff curse—it’s much better this way.

“Good,” Magneto rumbles in Logan’s ear, both pleased and condescending at once. He has one hand still rubbing at Logan’s back and the other wandering across his chest. Logan wants to punch him, the goddamn arrogant prick.

But Xavier hums, catching Logan for a kiss. His hand on Logan’s cock doesn’t falter as he reaches past Logan with his free hand to Magneto. Logan gave up trying to understand whatever fucked up relationship Xavier and Magneto share, and he has no problem ignoring it now. He lets himself get lost in Xavier’s hand--the way that he can feel Magneto in his bones and Xavier in his brain and—

Logan’s snarling, coming hot and tense into Xavier’s fist. He forces himself not to sag against Xavier, to watch instead as Xavier moans, a loud, breathless noise in his chest, his eyes fluttering, as he rides Logan’s orgasm mentally. It’s beautiful and it’s _Xavier_ —no copy could imitate that—and it’s exactly what Logan has wanted for years.

Magneto is sighing through release as well, his breath hot on the back of Logan’s neck, most likely dragged along with Logan and Xavier.

Fuck, Xavier’s magnificent.

Humming contentedly, Xavier presses a kiss into Logan’s temple. “Thank you.”

Logan grunts, ready to move past all this cuddly shit, but allows the three of them to remain where they are for exactly a minute by the ticking of Xavier’s watch before shrugging Magneto off his shoulders. The bastard has the balls to laugh as he moves off, pulling lighting at the adamantium of Logan’s bones once he’s up. Xavier’s still smiling gently—still _there_ —so Logan decides to play nice and just ignore Magneto altogether.

“So whose plan to end the world has got you to team up with him this time?” he asks Xavier, standing up to do up his pants. He is very suddenly aware of the frozen hubbub around them, and the exposure makes his skin itch.

Taking out a handkerchief from his pocket, Xavier wipes his hand clean, wrinkling his nose only slightly. “We team up for other things,” he says lightly, focused almost entirely on scrubbing between his fingers.

“You should see us at charades,” Magneto adds, voice so sincerely fond that Logan doesn’t think for a second that he’s bullshitting.

“We always win,” Xavier says, glancing up over his fingers at Magneto. They are disgustingly sweet sometimes. The few memories that Logan has of the two of them that don’t involve betrayal and plots to destroy humanity are oddly domestic and incredibly disturbing.

Shaking his head and adding another absurd encounter to his knowledge of Xavier and Magneto, Logan says, “You cheat.”

Xavier looks affronted at the very thought, turning his full attention back to Logan. Thank god. “I’d never,” he says, his tone genuinely offended.

“Come along, now,” Magneto snaps, his voice no longer low and intimate, but back to full command. He places a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “There’s much to be done.”

“I’m not going for you, bub,” Logan growls, shrugging the hand off and shifting himself so he’s directly between Xavier and Magneto.

The harsh line of Magneto’s brow turns softer, morphing into something halfway between resignation and hope. “Neither am I,” he says.


End file.
